


'cause surely i will lose my mind if i kiss you

by wafflesofdoom



Series: the multi timeline theory [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 00:17:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18560053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wafflesofdoom/pseuds/wafflesofdoom
Summary: in timeline 16, eliot waugh was brave.or, the one where eliot kisses a nervous q during his first physical kids party. because eliot waugh always got what he wanted, and he wanted quentin.





	'cause surely i will lose my mind if i kiss you

**Author's Note:**

> apparently, you write a drabble, you end up wanting to write a self-indulgent series where q and eliot get their happy beginnings in different timelines. so here we are.

Eliot Waugh was used to getting what he wanted.

Eliot was a lot of things, but he'd never been the type of person to deny himself what he wanted. Alcohol, drugs, expensive clothes he definitely couldn't afford, boys with girlfriends - Eliot tended to find a way. Life, he had decided a long time ago, was too short to live denying yourself what you wanted. It was selfish, really, but Eliot tended to advocate for selfishness, sometimes. The world was a depressing enough place without making yourself all screwed up, and sad, because you didn't just take the things you wanted. 

Okay, so maybe that hadn't always worked out in his favour. There were a few people on campus (and off-campus) who wanted his head on a platter, and he'd ended up doing a lot of sweet talking to get himself out of a shoplifting charge, and maybe none of it ever really filled the hollow emptiness in his chest that made Eliot take, and take, and take with no apologies, but it was sort of at the core of who Eliot was now, he'd made himself that way by choice. 

The point - the point was, Eliot liked what he liked and he got what he wanted.

Usually.

Quentin Coldwater was a different story, Eliot was beginning to realise.

Eliot had been curious about Quentin from the moment that Dean Fogg had handed him the name card, because surely someone with a name like that, like Quentin Coldwater, had to be someone interesting, that they would be somebody worth knowing. He'd watched as Quentin had stumbled across the field, adorably dazed and curious, walking as though he had to constantly remind himself to put one foot in front of the other, the action somehow not automatic. 

Quentin Coldwater was good-looking, in the kind of way that Quentin Coldwater didn't actually realise he was good-looking at all. He was cute, all shaking hands and nervous twitches, constantly tucking his hair behind his ears, and then letting it fall away again, his hair a very obvious way of hiding from the rest of the world, Eliot just wanted to devour him. He wanted to pin Quentin to the closest wall, and he wanted to kiss him until Quentin forgot his own name.

And he wasn't in the habit of denying himself what he wanted, either. 

Quentin was hiding, in a corner of the living room, nursing a cocktail Eliot had forced into his hand earlier, clutching - oh, Gods, was that really a Fillory and Further book he had tucked under his arm, flicking through the pages, eyes quickly scanning over the words? Really, Eliot was questioning his own taste, there and then, because anyone who spent their time at a party reading a children's book in the corner couldn't possibly be -

Well.

Maybe not.

Eliot, though many would question it, was a genuinely empathetic person. He was good at hiding that, obviously, but he wasn't a complete monster.

"So, Fillory and Further?" Eliot inquired, voice smooth as he infiltrated Quentin's corner, the younger man backing himself even further against the wall at Eliot's words. 

"Yeah, I - I don't really do well with parties," Quentin admitted, careful fingers smoothing down the pages he was reading before he closed the book, holding it close to his chest. "I've always liked books, better. It's - it's weird, I know, Julia always says I'm never going to like, meet people if I spend my life with my head in a book."

Eliot gave a slight shrug. "We all have the thing that gets us through the day," he said. 

Quentin looked slightly more relaxed, now, taking a sip of his drink. "What's yours?"

"Oh, you know, booze, drugs," Eliot stood a little closer to Quentin, relishing in the way a blush started to spread across Quentin's cheeks, light pink and barely there, but endearing, all the same. "Flirting with first-year boys."

Quentin, he honest to God let out a nervous giggle in response, and it might just have been Eliot's new favourite sound. "I didn't think Penny was your type," he said.

"Oh, he's not," Eliot shook his head. "Don't be coy, Quentin. I think even Dean Fogg knows I've had my eye on you since you stumbled onto campus."

This time, the flush on Quentin's cheeks spread, turning bright red as it traveled down his pale neck. He was wearing a shirt that was obviously at least two sizes too big for him, cuffs dangling down over his heads, the collar loose enough that it exposed part of Quentin's shoulder, the curve where his chest bled into his neck Eliot's for the taking if Quentin so agreed. 

"Um - really?"

Eliot, well - he was going to enjoy completely corrupting Quentin, if he was honest, something incredibly endearing about the first-year, a tinge of innocence hiding underneath the unsure sentences and anxieties that implied he was someone who'd seen and been through a lot, in twenty-three years. "Really," he confirmed, studying Quentin's face for a reaction. "Unless - well, unless you have your eye on someone else," he said, admitting to himself for the first time that well - well maybe Quentin wasn't interested in him. That, that was something Eliot didn't encounter often. 

Quentin shook his head, as though he was unsure of what to reply. "I, um," he trailed off, eyes dropping to Eliot's lips. 

Maybe not so innocent after all, Eliot hummed to himself. 

He liked it.

Emboldened, Eliot cupped a hand around the back of Quentin's neck, fingers tangling in the long strands of his mousey brown hair. Eliot would really enjoy putting some sort of deep conditioner in Quentin's hair, but he supposed that would have to wait for another day. "You can say no to me, Quentin," he murmured softly, close enough that he could feel the hot pants of Quentin's breath against his skin. 

"I don't want to say no," Quentin was confident in his words in a way that made Eliot's insides - and resolve - melt right down to his boots, Quentin warm, and real, and relaxed in Eliot's arms. 

Eliot couldn't help but smile, leaning in to kiss Quentin, the other man's lips surprisingly soft under his own, the kiss turning from soft, and slow, to eager all too quickly, Quentin huffing an excited breath against Eliot's lips, pushing his tongue into Eliot's mouth, rocking up on his heels, nervous fingers clutching at Eliot's shirt, - 

Quentin's book crashed to the floor, the sound breaking the two of them apart, Quentin looking delightfully ruffled, giving Eliot an apologetic grin as he picked his book up, dusting down the cover. "I, uh - I forgot I was holding this," he admitted. 

"I'll take that as a compliment," Eliot said, Quentin's bumbling explanation giving him the moment he'd needed to regain his composure. One kiss, and Quentin Coldwater had Eliot weak at the knees. How - **_how_**? He'd sort of arrogantly assumed he'd be the one to completely rock Quentin's world, but there seemed as though there were more than a few secrets hidden under the oversized shirt and nervous hands.

"Yeah," Quentin let out a breath he'd clearly been holding. "You probably should," he said, setting the book down on the windowsill, his movements almost reverent, like he needed to make sure the book was safe before he could do anything else. "I - this is crazy," he shook his head, hair flying into his face. 

"Why?"

"I think you could probably have anyone you'd like at this party," Quentin said. "But you're kissing me."

"Good observation," Eliot said, absently brushing Quentin's hair off his face. "My dear Q - I'm kissing you because I want to. There's nothing crazy about that." 

Quentin laughed, a weird sort of relieved laugh. "If you - if you knew my life before here, you'd think it was crazy too," he said. "I'm not the kind of guy people notice at parties, not people who look like you, at least."

"Keep complimenting me like this and I might not be able to let you out of my sight tonight, Coldwater," Eliot murmured. 

The corners of Quentin's mouth quirked up into a smile. "I was sort of hoping you wouldn't, anyway." 

See this - _this_ was why you went for the things you wanted in life, Eliot decided, dragging Quentin in by the waist for a kiss he could feel right down to his toes, both of Quentin's hands free now, fingers fisted in the material of Eliot's waistcoat, Quentin giving as good as he got. This was why you went for the things you wanted in life, because sometimes they wanted you right back.

"As much as I'm enjoying this," Eliot pulled back, their foreheads touching. "I have plans for you that require a locked door and no audience." 

Quentin - Quentin, Quentin, Quentin, Eliot was going to enjoy how his name felt rolling off his lips - had the audacity to give him a sexy smirk, running a hand through his long hair. "I told you, I don't want to say no."

Eliot couldn't help but reward a statement like that with a kiss, grabbing Quentin by the wrist and shoving him toward the stairs, the party going on around them as if Eliot wasn't about to bundle this adorable first year into his bed and make him see stars. 

"Eliot, El, stop, I'm going as fast as I can," Quentin laughed, full-bodied, right from his toes kind of laughed, stumbling up the stairs. 

"If you were going as fast as you could, you'd already be naked in my bed," Eliot argued, pushing at Quentin's ass, the first-year making it up the last few steps before he took another stumble, Eliot managing to catch him around the waist, pulling Quentin's back against his chest. "I've got you," he murmured, enjoying the affect his voice had on Quentin, the other man melting into his embrace, neck deliciously exposed. 

Eliot was only a man, after all. 

He pressed a kissed to the underside of Quentin's jaw, teeth nipping at sensitive skin as he moved to the curve of Quentin's shoulder, right where his shoulder met his neck, just about able to see as Quentin's eyes fluttered shut, as though this one simple touch was too much. 

Eliot - he was going to enjoy learning how to push all Quentin Coldwater's buttons, he decided. 

"If you," Quentin paused, taking a second to catch his breath. "If you don't remind me which room is yours again, I'm just going to blow you in this hallway."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

Quentin twisted in Eliot's arms, eyes bright, and happy as he looked at him. "Don't underestimate me," he countered.

Eliot brushed a kiss against Quentin's lips, his bedroom door swinging open behind them, Eliot enjoying the startled jump Quentin made when he heard the bang of the door colliding with the wall behind it, Eliot not entirely in control of his own powers, most of his brain power having started its slow descent south, skin tingling in every place Quentin touched him.

"Prove to me why I shouldn't." 

Quentin's eyes were dark, now, lips red and kiss bitten as he took hold of Eliot's hand, trying his best to be smooth and not fall over as he walked them both backward into Eliot's room, the door shutting (and locking) behind them. 

Yeah, Eliot was going to enjoy this. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eliot didn't - well, he didn't normally do the morning after, romance part, but the moment he'd kissed Quentin, he'd admitted to himself this wasn't going to be a one-night thing, not for him at least. Quentin had only been at Brakebrills for a few weeks, and he'd managed to get under Eliot's skin, already, poking around and finding a home under the surface, chipping away at the persona Eliot projected to the rest of the world.

Quentin looked adorable when he was sleeping.

God - if Margo could hear him, now, she'd tease him for the rest of eternity over how gone he was for this first-year boy after hooking up with him once.

(Three, if you were being technical, Eliot couldn't help but smirk proudly, memories of those utterly delicious sounds Quentin had made in the back of his throat the previous night, nervous hands sure, and careful, when given the chance.)

"Mm," Quentin hummed softly, eyes still closed as he stretched out, fingertips brushing against the headboard. "Morning."

"Morning," Eliot echoed, propping his head in his hand, giving himself a better vantage point. "I didn't think you'd still be here."

Quentin cracked open an eye. "Yeah, because I had such a terrible night," he drawled, this new sarcastic Quentin a fun development. "Why wouldn't I be here?"

"Straight boys generally don't stay for the morning after chat."

Quentin was fully awake now, eyebrows raised. "Since when was I a straight boy?"

He was going to be the death of Eliot, really.

"I've liked boys since I was a teenager," Quentin prodded, only looking slightly offended. "I'm very much practising bisexual, Eliot." 

Eliot couldn't help but laugh at the phrasing, leaning over to brush Quentin's hair out of his eyes. He liked Quentin's eyes, liked how intense they were, good and bad. Intense sad was the expression he'd sort of come to expect with Quentin, but this was a different sort of intense - an intensity that made Eliot's stomach flip over, and back around as he willed his brain to put a coherent response together. 

"I think you might need some more practice," Eliot said, running a hand across Quentin's chest. He was hiding a magnificent body under those oversized clothes, Eliot decided, and he was going to have a serious conversation with Julia about how she was letting her best friend dress as soon as he'd had his fill of Quentin for the morning. 

Quentin laughed, his eyes crinkling with happiness. "If you say so." 

"Mm, like so much more practice," Eliot said, slinging a leg over Quentin's hips, Q's skin warm under his fingertips. "It might be quite a time commitment." 

Quentin squirmed, moving so he could hook his hands around Eliot's waist. "I'd like to hear the terms and conditions before I agree," he teased, tilting his chin upward, Eliot pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

"Well, you'd have to be available basically every night."

"Every night? That's ambitious." 

"Sex magic is a very comprehensive course," Eliot said, twisting his face into a mock-serious expression. "Lesson one - stay in bed for long enough, and magically, the whole party aftermath is clean by time we get downstairs."

"Oh really? Magically?"

"Mm, it's very strange," Eliot shrugged, pausing to kiss Quentin properly, glad that tooth-brushing spells were a thing as he poked his tongue into the minty-freshness of Quentin's mouth. "Even stranger is that I don't have a door to my room anymore, so we can't leave."

Quentin looked over to where the door had been the previous evening. "What if we need to eat?"

Eliot raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure I can think of something for you to eat."

Quentin snorted. "That's gross," he shook his head. "Never say that again, and I'm in."

Eliot laughed, leaning in to kiss Quentin again. "You're an easy sell, Coldwater."

Quentin's voice was quiet, soft against Eliot's lips. "You've just got a better bed than I do."

Eliot gave him a curious look.

"I hear Penny having a lot of sex," Quentin grimaced. 

"Ah," Eliot said. "In that case, I see your logic."

(And if Eliot loosened his wards a little, just to make Penny squirm as Quentin fell apart in Eliot's arms, pliant and uninhibited in a way that Eliot was pretty sure was going to be the reason he would never let Quentin Coldwater out of his sight again, then no one really had to know, did they?)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wanting Quentin was easy. Wanting Quentin was like - it was like breathing. Eliot had wanted him from the moment he'd seen him stumble across the grass, completely confused and dragging that horrifying satchel with him. Wanting Quentin was easy when he made it so easy, eager to please in every aspect of his life, Quentin the most affectionate person Eliot had ever met, practically an octopus when it was just the two of them, hands around Eliot's waist, a finger hooked in Eliot's belt as they hung out with their friends.

Being with Quentin was harder. 

Eliot knew he was a task. He was closed off, and sarcastic, and he ran from real feelings like it was his full-time job, and he panicked when he realised that what he and Quentin had was going far beyond what he'd expected it to be, Quentin tearfully declaring that he loved Eliot and that if he could stop pushing him away, that would be great, thanks. Eliot was a task to love, and he'd almost pity Quentin for being landed with that task if he wasn't a selfish man, a selfish man who revelled in the kind of love Quentin was giving him, all-consuming and given completely without expectation, as though he didn't need to hear it back to know how Eliot felt. 

Relationships weren't either of their fortes. 

Quentin still struggled, a lot. Sometimes - sometimes he struggled so much, Eliot wanted to march to Dean Fogg's office, and demand why he'd promised a kid with depression that magic was going to solve everything when it didn't, it never could, it never would. Magic didn't erase the feelings that pinned Quentin to his bed as if he was being held there by concrete, eyes glazed and empty. 

But - 

Well, Quentin always came out the other side. It was - maybe it was cruel, but Eliot felt like he could breathe again, the days when Quentin would break and cry. Crying, crying meant that he was moving out of the dead behind the eyes phase (Margo's words, not his) and into the one where he needed them, needed all of them, most especially Eliot, fragile in Eliot's arms as he slowly accepted magic didn't cure the mental illness he'd battled for his whole life. 

Being with Quentin was hard, but sometimes - sometimes it was the easiest thing Eliot had ever done, in moments like this where Quentin was smiling, chattering about something with that look of enthusiasm, of excitement Eliot so loved, on his face, anxious fingers messing with a deck of cards. Anxious, not nervous, Quentin's insecurities and anxieties always presenting at his hands, first, in shaking hands and unsure movements. 

"God, El, just - just imagine, imagine if we could really..." Quentin trailed off, cheeks flushing pink. "What are you staring at?"

"You," Eliot said, unapologetic in his shameless watching. What was the point of having a boyfriend if you couldn't stare at him for no reason? 

"Do I have something on my face?" Quentin scrunched up his nose in an expression that absolutely shouldn't have been as adorable as it was. 

Eliot laughed. "No, darling," he said, brushing Quentin's hair out of his face, enjoying the way Quentin always melted into Eliot's hands whenever Eliot would let a pet-name slip. It was his secret weapon, these days, the way he always got Quentin to agree to anything, and everything. "I just love you."

Quentin's breath hitched in his throat. "You - you've never said that, before."

"And that was my mistake," Eliot said, pressing a soft kiss to Quentin's lips. "I love you, Q."

Quentin smiled against Eliot's mouth, cards forgotten on the table in front of them, shaking fingers tracing a familiar pattern on Eliot's neck. "I love you too, El."

 

 

 

(Eliot was sure it would all go to hell, sooner rather than later. They still had the Beast to contend with, and life was nothing if not a bitch, but he -

He could deal with that when he had to.)

 

 

 

Eliot Waugh was used to getting what he wanted. 

He just wasn't used to getting to keep it.


End file.
